


Any Other Way

by Celesma



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Castiel in the Bunker, Emotional Castiel, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Human Castiel, M/M, Season 09
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-12 17:50:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1194114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celesma/pseuds/Celesma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is trying to adjust to having human emotions. Dean helps him. (Canon-divergent in that Cas is human, but 9x03 never happened and Ezekiel/Gadreel did not possess Sam.) </p>
<p>
  <i>Gift fic for KelpietheThundergod, the Dean to my Cas</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Any Other Way

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KelpietheThundergod](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KelpietheThundergod/gifts).



> This is a late Valentine's Day gift for KelpietheThundergod, dear friend and fellow SPN writer. I hope you like it, darling! :D

When Dean gets back from a grocery run in town, he senses the sounds of distress long before he hears them – sharp little vibrations that hang on the air like musical notes – and he heads down the bunker hallway towards the bedroom that he made up for Castiel. His suspicions solidify as he draws closer, the vibrations he feels on his skin eventually reaching his ears, resolving into little breathy noises that might be repressed sobs.  
  
He's not really surprised to know that Cas might be crying. Ever since he lost his Grace and became human, Cas has had a rough time dealing with the attendant emotions. It wasn't that angels couldn't _feel_ , exactly; the problem was that it wasn't a state of mind that suited them. They simply couldn't sustain the constant flux of emotions that was a daily fact of life for just about every person on the planet. And while Cas was probably the most human angel Dean had ever met, you still had to make a pretty big jump to get from human _angel_ to human _human._  
  
It hasn't gotten better, a month after they'd found Cas in a homeless shelter and resolved themselves to getting him back on his feet. Cas sheds tears over everything now: tragedies on the news, vague musings over the problem of evil, mistakes that he'd made. _Especially_ mistakes that he'd made. Just yesterday Dean had gone into the bathroom to find Cas sitting in the shower, crying his eyes out over the nephilim. Dean tried to get him back into hunting, hoping that maybe fixing the fallen angel problem would get him to not feel so bad about everything, but Cas routinely froze up whenever one of his asshole brothers or sisters refused to see reason and had to be put down. _I can't see their faces_ , he told Dean the first time it happened, which made zero sense to the hunter – until he realized that Cas meant that he couldn't see his sibling's face overlaying the human host's anymore, and was therefore confronted with the direct visual evidence that he was really killing _two_ people.  
  
It's not that Dean doesn't appreciate seeing the evidence of Castiel's big heart. Cas has always been a carer. It just gets really exhausting after a while.  
  
Because every time Cas gets upset, without fail, Dean will swoop in like a mother hen to try to cheer Cas up, give him a little pat on the back or a pep talk, _anything_ to let him know that he's there for him. There was a difference between the little hurts that you were just supposed to let run their own course, and the big things where you were supposed to step in and provide comfort, Dean knew, but he wasn't sure where the line stood. His dad had treated everything – from paper cuts to busted ribs – like they were _all_ stupid little things (throwing in lines like _stop acting like a damn woman Dean_ whenever his son dared to shed tears), and probably Dean was overcompensating for that... but all the same, he was pretty pleasantly surprised to realize that he had a high tolerance for emotional outbursts. Sam had never been a weepy kid, so some part of him was scared that he would still be like his dad in that respect.  
  
"You okay, Cas?" he says, cracking the door a bit and peering inside. When Cas doesn't respond – just lies face down on the bed – he pads inside and sits on the bed next to him. "I got you your favorite at the store. Peanut butter and bananas. It's Sammy's favorite too, so I figured I'd make like Elvis and fry up some peanut butter-banana sandwiches. What do you say?"  
  
Still no answer. Dean sighs and places a hand on Cas, scratching the fine hairs on the nape of his neck gently. Another thing about human Cas was that he responded a lot more to touch – seemed to crave it, even. This helps bring Cas awake, somewhat.  
  
"I can't bear it," he says, voice muffled into his pillow. "I can't bear feeling like this."  
  
Dean looks over and restrains a curse. The day's newspaper is sitting on the nightstand, open to a story from the front page. He'd _told_ Sam about leaving that shit around. "Look, whatever you read in there, you have to know that it wasn't – "  
  
"It was my siblings. They caused a bus accident at a school."  
  
"How would you even know that?"  
  
"There were descriptions of strange light. The bus driver was clearly a potential vessel. He was accosted by an angel looking for a host. No one died, but several children are in the hospital now."  
  
As awful as that is, Dean knows there's nothing he can say about the incident that will make Cas feel any better. Instead he deepens the scratches and says: "Hey, don't worry. It's gonna be okay. We're _all_ gonna be okay. Sam and Kevin are on the case, and sooner or later they're gonna find the thing that reverses that dick Metatron's spell – "  
  
" – a spell that took two people to carry out," Cas says, and yeah, he's _definitely_ crying now, little sobs shaking his shoulders, sending infinitesimal shockwaves through Dean's palm. It used to be when Dean put a hand on Cas he could just _feel_ the power flowing out of him, like no matter how hard Cas tried he just couldn't contain himself in a tiny suit of flesh; but he's human now, so it's like a great big chunk of him took off to parts unknown (nowhere in the zip code of this galaxy, of course). Still, it doesn't change anything between them. Dean gives Cas a forceful – but reassuring – squeeze, drinking in the way Cas leans into his touch, like a child.  
  
"Hey. Cas. _No._ That wasn't your fault." Cas turns around and just gives him a look, surprisingly human for the exasperation it conveys. "Okay, so maybe it was, a little. But you gotta understand, you were really out of it that whole time, thanks to Naomi's brainwashing. And Metatron was..." He's not sure how to finish that thought.  
  
Cas finishes it for him. "He was family."  
  
"Yeah. And I know – _God_ , do I know – how hard it is to shake off that kind of thinking. You chose free will a long time ago, Cas. You're _still_ choosing it. It's not a one-time deal. You wouldn't be you if you found it that easy to turn your back on your family."  
  
To his surprise, Cas smiles weakly. "I could say the same thing about you."  
  
"Well, sure, I guess," Dean says, suddenly uncomfortable. "But I only went through the whole Daddy's Good Little Soldier routine for twenty years or so. You were at it for, what? A _bazillion_?"  
  
"I do not believe that is a real number. But yes, it was a few million years." Cas's eyes grow teary again. "I don't think it changes anything. People are suffering because of me. Angels _and_ humans."  
  
Dean has no idea what he's supposed to say to that. Okay, yeah, _technically_ it's true, but going down that road only leads to the abyss. And if Cas was willing to look past all _his_ mistakes – look past the fact that Dean was a lying, torturing SOB – and _still_ come out the other side loving him, then by God, he should be able to do something for the fallen angel.  
  
"It might not have happened if I'd been there for you, Cas," Dean says quietly. "If I'd realized what was happening sooner – or hell, even _after_ you tried to take off with the tablet, if I hadn't let myself get so angry at you – "  
  
Cas is outraged. "Don't even _attempt_ to shift blame, Dean. My actions are my own. They – "  
  
"Yeah, but they don't happen in a vacuum! I was a _dick_ to you, Cas. I should have realized that having Naomi crawling around inside your head hadn't left you completely right. Instead I took it personally and acted like a bitch. And I'm – I'm sorry for that, Cas."  
  
Unfortunately this confession isn't having the effect he desired. Cas's eyes grow even filmier with tears, and he rises on one elbow to fully meet Dean's gaze. "Oh, Dean," he says, "I never wanted you to suffer. I just wanted to help. But it came out all wrong. I only made things worse for you. Blaming yourself for what happened is proof enough of that."  
  
"Okay, I'm not listening to this," Dean says querulously, and he seizes Cas's elbow and pulls him up to meet him. "C'mere, you." Before the fallen angel can protest he's got his arms around him, trapping him in a bear hug that's not too far off from an enthusiastic Cupid greeting. At first Cas's entire body stiffens... and then finally he begins to relax, almost by imperceptible degrees, until his arms come up under Dean's and hug him back.  
  
"Better?"  
  
"Yes. Thank you."

They sit like that for a few moments. At some point Dean knows he's got to let up on the physical contact, make some kind of declaration (verbal or otherwise) of _no_ _homo_ , but he finds he can't – or won't – make a move to distance himself.

"I don't know how you bear it," Cas says finally. "Being human."  
  
"Yeah. Kind of a shit deal, huh?"  
  
"You are all such strong creatures. Much stronger than angels are."  
  
"I'm... not following that logic."  
  
"I'm not talking about physical strength," Cas says patiently. "But strength of purpose, of _will_. So many of you worry about what you will eat or where you will sleep or what you will do when you're sick. You worry about being alone, or what will happen to the loved ones you _do_ have. Some of you are subjected to terrible abuses. I don't know how you don't just choose to end it all, day after day... but somehow, you continue to find a reason for living. You weave all those experiences – the worry, the fear, the pain and suffering – into your identity, and forge new strength from it." Cas's voice has adopted something akin to reverence. "It's not something any angel has ever been capable of. We don't suffer or feel the way humans do, so we are – lacking."  
  
_Now that's a new one._ The last time an angel had talked about humans in such glowing terms was when Dean had that chat with Anna. Of course, back then she'd played up all the good stuff about being human, while here Cas was vouching for the flip side of the coin. "What? You're trying to say suffering has a reason? It's all part of some divine plan?" He can't keep the sarcasm out of his voice on the last two words, only make it sound gentler than normal because it's Cas he's talking to.  
  
"No. Only that it can be redemptive, in its way."  
  
"Well, if there was ever an angel that was almost human it's you, Cas. I don't think we could have been such good friends if it was any other way."  
  
"Yes. I am... different."  
  
"Yeah, what was that thing Naomi said you had? A _crack in your chassis_?"  
  
Cas nods into Dean's neck. "Yes. She said I was damaged. She was trying to shame me, but... I'm happy I'm different. I love humans. I don't ever want to stop loving them. I just wish I could have learned to embrace that difference, instead of letting them stamp it out of me."  
  
"It takes time to recover," Dean admits. "Especially since we've established it's been millions of years they've had you acting like something out of _The Stepford Wives_."  
  
Cas frowns. "What's that?"  
  
"It's a movie. About... robot ladies. I think. I haven't actually seen it. Maybe we could sit down and watch sometime."  
  
"Robot ladies. It sounds very interesting." Cas nods again, meditatively. "I'd like that." His arms tighten around Dean's back, and the hunter finds himself leaning forward in response to the close contact; if he didn't know better, he'd say he was as starved for Cas's physical attentions as the reverse. "I hope you understand that you are special too, Dean. Your soul has blazed from the first moment I met you. What you've done for me these past few weeks... I could never have gotten through without you. I don't ever want you to put a lamp over that light."  
  
"Thanks, I guess," Dean says. He doesn't necessarily think Cas is wrong – they've been through way too much shit together for him to ever revert back to the John Winchester school of thought – but he can't resist the feeling of discomfort that arises from being told so. Dean's never wanted to feel like a special snowflake. He knows that instinctive resistance to being praised is something he's got to work on, as much as Cas has to work on his emancipation from the Host.  
  
"I feel sleepy, Dean. Will you lie down with me? I would like to avoid nightmares."  
  
Dean blinks and doesn't answer right away. His first instinct is to point out that nightmares will come as they will and his presence isn't required, but... _well, why the hell not?_ "Sure, Cas," Dean says, and he eases Cas down off his chest and back onto the bed, before shuffling up to Cas's back and wrapping his arms around him. The fallen angel responds with a contented sigh and – without even the faintest semblance of shame or hesitation – leans the curve of his back into Dean, like he's seeking out warmth from the blazing light that is Dean's soul.  
  
_Spooning with an angel of the Lord. What have I become?_ But Dean finds he doesn't mind at all... especially when Cas grips his hand and holds it to his chest, like a child clutching a teddy bear. There are times when Castiel inspires awesome wonder in Dean – reminds him that he's the creature that bore him out of hell in the palm of his hand, could heal or kill with a single touch – and then other times, like this, when he's as small and gentle as a lamb. As much a bundle of contradictions as he, Dean Winchester, is.  
  
And really, he wouldn't have it any other way.


End file.
